


The Rat's Nest

by TheShinySword



Series: Tokyo Incidents [2]
Category: BanG Dream! (Anime), BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: A boob may be touched, Aged-Up Character(s), Chisato Shirasagi: Woman on a Mission, College AU on a technicality, F/F, Moca Aoba: Perpetual Smiler, No Sex, This story has some of the funniest and saddest lines I've ever written, Unrequited Love, sexual situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22640866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShinySword/pseuds/TheShinySword
Summary: >Are you interested in stirring up a scandal, Moca Aoba?>u should ask mocachan to dinner first before u try to scandalize japan>Alright.Moca Aoba gets in over her head.
Relationships: Aoba Moca & Mitake Ran, Aoba Moca/Shirasagi Chisato
Series: Tokyo Incidents [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625191
Comments: 26
Kudos: 106





	The Rat's Nest

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Incorrigible, my first MocaChisa story, named after the English title for a Tokyo Jihen song. 
> 
> CW: Discomfort in a sexual situation, panic attack

**> Are you available tonight?**

The text from Chisato Shirasagi, sent a week after their chance encounter at the convenience store Moca worked and spent most of her free time in, was basically inevitable. Moca had long suspected she was absolutely irresistible and anyone lucky enough to snag her lips would surely be hooked before long. Of course Chisato wanted to see her again, who wouldn’t?

Moca eyed the top of Ran’s head, bobbing lightly with the crunch of some store brand potato chips as she lay spread out on the threadbare rug (handout from Tomoe) spread between their paisley couch (picked out by Himari) and the TV (old enough to be a Hazawa Family heirloom). Ran paid no attention to Moca and her phone up on the crustycouch as her eyes were glued to the screen where a half CGI, half puppet caricature of a little girl scolded adults in something resembling a game show.

Moca inched her foot out towards Ran’s shoulder, toes wriggling, “Chip~ Chip~ Chip~.”

“Moca!” Ran flinched away, just in time to avoid a face full of foot.

“Chip~.”

“You have ramen.”

A cup of instant ramen sat ignored on the side table beside three previously emptied and languishing cups of ramen. Yet Moca persisted, “It’s an appetizer.”

“The chip or the ramen?”

“Yes.”

Ran sighed but pushed up onto her elbows and held out a wavy round of grease and salt anyway, “Here.”

Chomp.

Moca clamped down around the whole chip, lips threatening to latch onto Ran’s finger next until Ran tugged her hand away with a sardonic sigh.

“Moca…” The fingers were hurriedly wiped on Ran’s shirt as she settled her head against the seat of the couch. But Moca knew Ran was smiling. It had been their dynamic their whole lives, now codified into their daily apartment life: if Ran was grumpy, or sad, or bored then Moca would fix it. Managing Ran had been a four person job but it was a little harder to get the gang together what with Tsugumi off chasing Sayo to Kyoto and Himari and Tomoe refusing to acknowledge that Tokyo was very very big and just because they all lived in Tokyo didn’t mean they hadn’t moved far away.

But it was fine. Moca was good at her job.

“Thanks for the food,” Moca scooped up her ramen with a satisfied grin. All her grins were satisfied. It was the Moca Aoba way. She quickly typed out a reply as she blew stale air over the hot instant noodles.

**>** **c** **ant get my practically perfect lips out of ur hea** **d** **;););)**

Chisato’s response came between the first bites of barely shrimp flavored sort of noodles. There were good instant ramen brands but Moca couldn’t get those ten for 200 yen.

** > Are you interested in stirring up a scandal, Moca Aoba?**

Ran chuckled at the firey faced little girl on screen (literally she was on fire) exploding in fury at foolhardy adults unable to answer her questions. _Chiko-chan_ was a weird show but someone had to watch it. Somewhere down the line it had become a sort of apartment tradition to watch the NHK’s weird variety programming every Friday night. To be fair they had no where better to be.

Moca’s eyes flicked between Ran and her phone. Chisato certainly knew how to draw Moca’s attention.

** >u should ask mocachan to dinner first before u try to scandalize japan**

** >Alright, ** **can you meet in half an hour** **?**

Moca choked on the half-chewed instant ramen making its way down her throat. A bit of freeze dried shrimp rocketed out of her mouth, propelled by her shock, spinning—dancing even—through the air before landing perfectly on the center of the part in Ran’s hair.

Chisato Shirasagi had called her bluff. And Ran was totally gonna freak if she found that shrimp.

“Ran~,” the merry prankster slid down the couch so her arms could drape over Ran’s shoulders.

“Moca.” Ran shifted to sit more comfortably under Moca, head tucked under Moca’s chin. The bit of shrimp lay just in front of the ever so slightly taller woman’s nose. If she reached out with her tongue she could probably risk it but licking Ran’s head was a little weird. But desperate times…

“I’m going on a date.”

Ran twisted a little in Moca’s arms. The shrimp bobbed closer to Moca’s mouth. “...really?”

“Right now,” Moca tested the space between the shrimp and her tongue. It was just out of reach. “With Chisato Shirasagi.”

“Really,” Ran’s curiosity turned incredulous. “You’re going on a date with a famous actress?”

“Wow Moca-chan is so hurt right now,” Moca teased. It was very unbelievable now that she said it out loud. “It’s nothing but true. She’s sexy, she’s gorgeous. She’s probably gonna kill me like a praying mantis when we’re done.”

Ran snorted, relaxing her shoulders. The shrimp was almost in range! “Have fun Moca.”

“You wanna come too? It’d be an extra special scandal with you there,” Moca said, only a little joking. Her tongue snuck out of her mouth. At least Moca had no dignity left to lose!

Lick!

Ran rolled away, grabbing the top of her head with a familiar look of exhausted disgusted. “What the hell Moca.”

“Just a little goodbye so you don’t get too jealous,” Moca said with imagined wistful sorrow as she swallowed the offending shrimp morsel. Mission accomplished.

“I will try to survive,” Ran responded dryly. No matter how much Moca wanted her to be, Ran had never once been jealous of where Moca aimed her attention. “Have fun. Moca.”

** >** **lets party**

* * *

Chisato texted the address along soon after: some glitzy place in Roppongi with a fancy English name Moca didn’t know how to say. It took a lot longer than thirty minutes to get to heart of Tokyo from her cheap outskirts apartment but Chisato seemed patient. Then again she was the one asking the favor of indeterminate importance.

Moca wondered what exactly Chisato Shirasagi meant by a scandal. Perchance she wanted an image of Moca’s bare ankle to long after in the night, though from the way Chisato kissed Moca suspected the actress had no trouble getting all the bare ankles she wanted. Heck, if memory served she used to date Kaoru (was currently dating Kaoru?)—the most desired bare ankles between their two schools! Honestly, Moca’s ankles were nothing to write home about. They could only disappoint in comparison.

By the time Moca wandered out of Roppongi station she couldn’t remember if the ankles were a metaphor or not.

There was a reason they called them the Roppongi Hills (did they call them the Roppongi Hills?) and that reason was twisting and turning and steep and made Moca’s underutilized calves cry for attention. If people here were so rich why couldn’t they flatten out their roads a little? Moca would have to write the mayor about it (Did Tokyo have a mayor? Should they get a mayor? Why didn’t Moca know anything about her local politics?).

Such were the jumping thoughts of Moca Aoba as she walked up the stairs to Chateau de Barbara or whatever it was. The door wasn’t even labeled, that’s how annoyingly fancy the place was. Moca gazed down at her hoodie and least ratty, but still terrible, pair of jeans. If she had any shame left her scrawny body she’d turn around and leave. But Moca didn’t so she opened the door instead.

Just as expected, it wasn’t secretly a front for a WcRonalds so it was too fancy for her taste by default. The door opened onto a single, aggressively minimalistic podium backed by velvet curtains and staffed by a Maitre D with his nose raised so high it was like someone was permanently stepping on his toes. He sniffed as Moca entered as the stench of broke college bum—stale potato chips and lukewarm coffee—wafted in before her. They hated each other on sight. He was Moca’s new favorite person.

“This is a private dining room,” the man droned, not looking her in the eye but in the hoodie.

“Perfect!” Moca responded cheerfully, “I’m a pretty private girl, I’ll fit right in.”

“No—You don’t—It’s,” his words stumbled over each other, just like Moca wanted, “it’s members _only._ ”

“I see, I see,” she pretended to take his insistence seriously just long enough to let his face relax before striking. “So it’s like a point card?” Moca reached for her wallet, “I got plenty of those, you take convenience store cards?”

“Please do NOT take those OUT here!” He shouted with a tremble as if Moca was going to pull off her pants not take out her wallet. “Just leave!”

One last shot. With an exaggerated pout Moca fired, “But Chisato Shirasagi will be so sad when I don’t show up to dinner.”

A series of noises expelled from the Maitre D’s mouth sounding like an ineffectual wizard’s spell or the smallest demon’s curse. Finally, he cracked his neck down to his clipboard in defeat, finger tapping his list until, “Are you… Moca Aoba?”

“Hiii~.”

The man sighed so deeply Moca could see his soul shake, “Shirasagi-san is expecting you. I’ll take you to her table.”

“Thanks~. I’ll be sure to tell her about the excellent reception I got.”

“Just put this on. Please. We have a dress code.” the Maitre D shoved a sports coat into her chest and motioned towards the curtain.

Moca shrugged the coat—two sizes too big, reeking of cigarettes and something horribly sweet to cover up the smell of cigarettes—on over her hoodie, much to the man’s consternation. He just didn’t appreciate high fashion. She admired her reflection in the window on the door before following the Maitre D: very Silicon Valley chic. If anyone asked (no one would ask) she’d say she’d invented a bread-person matching algorithm. She wasn’t sure what an algorithm was but it sounded fancy enough for the situation.

The hallway behind the curtain was dark and mysterious and everything Moca wanted from a secret rich person members only probable cult restaurant. It stretched out into infinite nothingness, lit only so a meter or so ahead was visible. What Moca could see of the wallpaper was maroon and covered sparingly with jaunty anthropomorphic rabbits in that sketchy victorian style.

Everything was classy in a victorian style, Moca thought with a mental grin, even undeniably furry art.

Over the ye olde fursonas were oil portraits of a dozen serious faced old men in pinstripe suits looking down disapprovingly on Moca as she passed. To be fair, that was the usual expression men in pinstriped suits wore when Moca walked by them. She recognized a few: a former prime minister, a few Sumo _yokozuno,_ some aging actors her mom was fond of and then just a whole bunch of old dudes Moca was pretty sure were actually the same old dude in different ties. They were probably “important” members of the club but she preferred to think the paintings were both the most elaborate and most boring fan art in the world. Perhaps the hall was secretly a vision board the owner put out into the universe so he (definitely a he) could fulfill his dream of having the worst secret club imaginable.

The Maitre D ushered her into dimly lit dining room. There were no windows, just a hazy layer of smoke diffusing approximately four ornate lamps and a useless chandelier. Mushy looking men who thought they looked very important in their tailored suits and middle parts sat close at wastefully large tables to plastically gorgeous women in evening gowns that cost way more than Moca’s rent, whispering whatever rich assholes said in lieu of proper flirting. Probably something about the stock market. ‘Oh baby baby my capital gains aren’t the only thing that’s rising.’

Her reluctant guide stopped in front of a booth and extended his hand with a flourish.

There in the corner booth, was the most beautiful woman to ever pay a weird amount of attention to Moca. This was where she belonged, not under convenience store florescents. Chisato sat waiting, head resting precisely in her hand, red gloved fingers posed to frame her cheek and her elbow rested casually on the other arm as if she hadn’t thought very hard about the first impression she wanted to seal into Moca’s eyes. It was possible she really hadn’t but Moca suspected Chisato had never done anything unintentionally casually in her life and definitely not in a dress like that: cherry red and fit to draw attention to wherever Chisato wanted it. All she was missing was one of those long cigarette holders and she’d be the exact image of an old movie star.

The blonde waved with a charming, practiced smile and motioned for Moca to join her. The queen on her throne, absent a king.

Maybe she’d settle for jester tonight.

“Thank you Jean,” Chisato told the man—who’s given name was absolutely not _Jean_ pronounced in the french style— as she waved him off back to his pretentious perch.

“Bonsorry Jean~.”

Jean bowed deeply to Chisato, “Have a pleasant evening Shirasagi-san,” and partially nodded to Moca, “… Aoba-san,” before he speedily exited.

“Thank you for joining me Moca Aoba,” Chisato motioned with a flit of her hand for Moca to sit beside her.

“No problem Chisato Shirasagi,” Moca bounced into the booth with the elegance of a trash panda crashing through the garbage. She slid close to Chisato, not close enough to touch but close enough to hear the actress’ small, pleasant sigh. “Can Moca Aoba get a menu?” The table empty save for a flickering candle, a bottle of wine and Chisato’s folded hands.

“It’s not that sort of restaurant.”

“It’s not the sort of restaurant where you eat?”

“It’s not the sort of restaurant where you order. There are courses preselected for you and brought out.” Chisato pushed forward an empty glass, “Wine?”

“The fancier the place, the shorter its menu,” Moca shrugged, “You can fill Moca-chan up when you’re ready.”

The actress did, long fingers wrapped around the base and neck of the wine bottle so she could pour with perfect precision. Moca supposed she was supposed to be impressed. She was impressed but she knew it was intentional. She wanted so badly to know what Chisato wanted from her.

But for now there was wine. Moca picked up the glass with a nod and swirled the red liquid around like she’d seen in a half-remembered movie. Then she sniffed it as if she had any idea what a good red wine smelled like. Whatever this was, it smelled a heck of a lot better than the convenience store brands she normally imbibed in. Moca sipped. Tasted a lot better too, but her palette wasn’t sophisticated enough to know how.

Chisato watched, sipping from her own glass, “To your standards?”

“If I can’t have the 1967 vintage, I suppose the 1968 will have to do.”

The blonde let out a controlled chuckle. It’d be nice to see Chisato really laugh, snort even but Moca had trouble even imagining it. “You’re missing out if you’re not having the 1966.”

“Exaaactly.”

Two salad plates were set out in front of them so stealthily Moca never saw the waiter. Moca tried to remember the last time she’d eaten something that was supposed to be green as she shoved arugula into her mouth. Her stomach pinched as if confused by the lack of grease going down her gullet. It was good, Ran should have come. Her diet was even worse than Moca’s. She’d probably opened another bag of potato chips and called it dinner.

Chisato ate at a much more leisurely pace, picking at leaf after leaf with her fork in gloved hands. Was she going to wear those gloves the whole time? Was this some sort of Victorian waif bit? If Moca surprised her would she fall to her fainting couch?

Moca was done with her salad by the time Chisato had started her fourth bite. “So tell Moca-chan all about this scandal?”

“Ask me next course. Besides,” Chisato batted her thick eyelashes at Moca over her wineglass, “I’ve realized I hardly know a thing about you, Moca Aoba.”

Moca gulped, hopeful that the dim light made it hard to tell Chisato was very successfully making her face flush, “Moca-chan is an open book. Ask and you shall receive.”

“What do you do?” She leaned forward, edging the space between them towards zero. “Besides flirt with lost girls in convenience stores.”

“That is my number one hobby,” Moca drank her wine at the outer edge of what could be considered a large sip. “But I’m also a student.” At the sort of half baked university that let her and Ran in.

“Studying what?” Chisato asked as if Moca was a learned scholar and not just desperately trying earn enough credits to get out of there.

Moca eyed Chisato’s unfinished salad, pushed the side with half it’s greens beckoning Moca’s fork. “Graphic design.”

“Interesting,” her head titled exactly 30 degrees. “I’m surprised.”

“What an I say, it’s my passion,” Moca tried to keep the bitterness from her laugh, “It’s what my mom does. Seemed reasonable enough.” Seemed reasonable enough to commit to for the rest of her life.

“It just doesn’t seem very ‘you’,” Chisato pushed her half eaten salad to the side.

“What happened to not knowing a thing about me? Suddenly, you have opinions.”

“I don’t have to know someone to have opinions about them. I am nothing but assumptions.”

Moca stretched out, her arms spread across the top of the booth, higher than was actually comfortable. “And what are your assumptions about the beautiful babe Moca-chan?”

“I think we’re very similar.” Chiasto ran a gloved finger around the thin rim of her glass, a perfect F note ringing out from the real crystal. “And that they’re about to serve the soup.”

And before Moca could decide if that was a compliment a speedy waiter slipped a thick soup with bits of potato and vegetable bobbing around in it under her hands. Moca was going to get in a year’s worth of veggies in one night. She dove in, performing the part of a raving animal for her watchful companion. The creamy potato and leek soup splattered onto the table cloth but the dark color and hazy atmosphere made it impossible to tell. Probably the hideous wealthy could even hide their mistakes.

Moca emerged from the soup bowl, pointing her dripping spoon at the former child star, “It’s the next course.”

“But you haven’t asked me any questions,” Chisato dabbed at the corner of her mouth, Moca found it hard to believe she had spilled. Her soup was barely touched. The broke student’s stomach wasn’t empty but it still churned with the memory of hunger. There was a special place in hell for people who wasted food but the rest of Moca’s pride kept her from saving Chisato from it.

Moca wracked her brain for something interesting to ask and settled on, “Do you still play bass?”

Chisato frowned, just slightly, “I don’t have the time or the cause. Do you still play guitar?”

“Yeah I do. Not mine though, hocked that thing for cash.” That wasn’t true, she didn’t play any more but she still kept the guitar in pristine condition. Just in case. But it suited her image more to be careless. “Do you miss being an idol?”

“No. I miss Pastel Palettes though. Do you miss being a teen rock star?”

“No, we sucked,” Moca laughed with curling lips and winked, “Did you ever hear us play? Ran can out sing anyone in the universe but the rest of us sounded like alien chihuahuas trying to back her up.”

“I did always wonder why Udagawa-san never sang with you.”

“Tomo-chin’s totally tone deaf. It’d be funny if it wasn—no. Heh. It’s very funny,” Moca leaned forward with her elbows on the table probably mortally offending anyone who could see. “I thought I was so cool, but Tsugu was the only one of us who didn’t look like a try hard punk. Tsugu’s a proper punk.” The memories flooded out of the corner Moca tried to keep them in, “Hii-chan had real skill, don’t know where she got that vintage bass, I tried to sell it like three times for bread money but she always caught me. It really didn’t matter that we were bad though. I—” Miss them.

Slowly, Moca pulled back from the table. Her grin flickered, she hoped with some subtly. The thought hit Moca’s stomach like bad sushi. She internally reeled, all those nutrient rich veggies threatened to make a reappearance.

Moca had spent all her good years dreading the future and here she was living in it.

“I always preferred Roselia,” Chisato said with a mischievous smile. “There was a lot of power in that guitar.”

Moca’s insides snapped back together and she shoved the feelings into their corner. The grin returned to its place, “Wow, wow. You ask me to do you a favor and then praise my greatest rival.”

“Did Hikawa-san know she was your greatest rival? I always thought Hina was her rival.”

“She was Moca-chan’s rival. It may not have been mutual.”

Chisato set her lipstick stained glass down, “You’ve never once in your life cared what someone thought about you, have you?”

 _Everyday._ “Not once.”

“Fill me up?”

“Sure, sure.” The bottle was bit heavier than Moca expected and wasn’t as skilled at pouring as Chisato but there was something about comfortable intimacy of drawing closer as the bottle steadily glugged empty that made Moca’s mouth dry up and forced the uncomfortable thoughts away. She filled her own glass too just to have some way to wet her throat again.

“Thank you Moca Aoba,” the actress pulled back. The ruby liquid in the crystal was so close in color to her lips that when she lifted the glass Moca couldn’t tell where either one ended.

“So,” Moca stretched, hoodie lifting exposing a bit of cold belly as she did. “What are we doing here Chisato?”

“Don’t you want the steak?”

Chisato had a point.

Before she could blink, the steak was there. A light, round cut. A filet? Maybe? It’d been a long time since Moca had had a steak not covered in ketchup. Putting ketchup on this steak would have been a crime against humanity. She couldn’t talk for how throughly she wanted to make love to this steak. Chisato laughed, still controlled but lighter with wine, when Moca told her as much. Wine was fantastic. Moca’s grin blurred at the edges. It wasn’t long before both her plate and glass were empty but a bit remained behind on Chisato’s. The way Chisato ate was criminal. Stupid, sexy, doesn’t eat all her food Chisato Shirasagi.

Moca spun her wineglass by its base, watching the dregs of the liquid sloosh in a lopsided circle. Wine drunkenness was a comfortable feeling—a heady warmth like pulling a comforter all around her body—and it made Chisato that much prettier and infuriating. Something Moca just barely had the awareness to keep from saying out loud.

“More already?” Chisato lifted the bottle to pour but stopped short as she took in Moca’s face.

“Oh ho~ You’re trying to take advantage of cute little Moca-chan, aren’t you?”

“I’m actually not,” the actress filled her own glass and left Moca’s empty. “So maybe that’s enough for cute little Moca-chan.”

At least now Moca’s embarrassed blush was hidden inside her wine blush. “Okay~ Okay~.” If she could prolong this nice feeling though… Moca eyed the wine bottle, trying to figure out how to bring it closer but subtly. Her face must have given her scheming away as Chisato scooched the bottle towards the other end of the table.

“I would never have taken the great Moca Aoba for a light weight.”

“We can’t all be classy wine drinking fancy ladies,” Moca cringed, that could have been cleverer. Whatever. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t throwing back whiskey sours every night. Actually, it was totally her fault. Moca and Ran had hit 20 hard. They spent more of the year reveling (wallowing) than studying and they were both suffering the consequences now. By 21 they’d banned alcohol from their apartment. It mostly worked.

“True,” Chisato emptied the rest of the bottle into her glass, “It wouldn’t do if you were a ‘classy fancy lady’.”

“Now will you tell Moca-chan what you want?”

“So impatient. But we haven’t even had dessert.” Chisato raised her eyebrows in faux surprise.

“Moca-chan can multitask.”

“Why do you do that? Stop using pronouns?” The actress slid around the booth until she was close enough to let Moca smell the sweet wine on her breath and their thighs were a centimeter from touching. The heat between them mingled. “Is it when you’re uncomfortable?”

Moca’s pushed herself forward the last centimeter. Her jeans were too thick to feel Chisato’s thigh as anything other than an ambiguous soft wall but Chisato didn’t move away. “I am I~. Moca-chan is Moca-chan~.” It didn’t answer the question but there wasn’t an answer to the question.

A clink. The last course was served, the waiter forever unseen. Moca looked down.

Bread pudding.

Chisato pushed her plate towards Moca. “Would you like mine too?”

And Moca knew without doubt that whatever Chisato Shirasagi wanted from her she was going to give it up.

The bread pudding, truly the most magnificent idea Moca Aoba had ever encountered in her twenty one years of living, successfully tempered the wine raging through her system. At least enough that the room stopped spinning and as they left she had the peace of mind to shoot finger guns at _Jean_ on her way out the door and into Chisato’s private car.

Her private car! Technically, her agency’s personal car according to the side but from the way the driver rolled up the division as soon as Moca entered she got the idea it was used a little more privately than it was meant to. The seats were squishy and comfortable in a way that made Moca resent every other car she’d ever had the misfortune of riding in. Did all rich people live like this? Fancy prix-fix meals and nice cars to drive them around so they never had to look at a poor.

Moca snagged one of the two sparkling waters in the cupholders and pocketed the other in the sports coat she refused to return. “Eat the rich amiright?”

“Do you want to eat me then?” Chisato glanced over at Moca with a bemused smile.

“Are you rich?”  
“Guess.”

“Yeah, I wanna gobble you all up,” Moca’s grin sloshed around her face, “redistribute your wealth to me.”

“How noble.”

“Nah, I just want money.” She forced the grin to stay afloat. “I don’t like not having money.” There was so much you couldn’t do without money. Money shrunk distances.

“If you’re going to eat me,” Chisato crossed her leg, the tip of her high heel threatening the outside of Moca’s thigh like a dagger, “please make it pleasant.”

Despite the car’s top of the line AC, the air inside was suffocating. Moca spent the rest of the ride with her head pressed against the window trying to get the cool glass to suck away the heat and stop her racing heartbeat.

They rode the rest of the way like two dolls from different lines, no matter how they were put together the scale was never going to match.

* * *

Moca hummed with nervous energy as they reached Chisato Shirasagi’s aggressively swanky apartment building. It had a man whose entire job was stand outside and open the door. ENTIRE JOB. Moca tried to imagine that being her job for the rest of forever but her imagination wasn’t half good enough and besides she was just trying to put off accepting her wine drunkenness had worn off and she couldn’t blame anything that was about to happen on alcohol.

Also Moca had no idea what was about to happen.

Okay, she had _some_ idea. Moca assumed “scandal” meant some sort of sex thing. What other kind of scandal was there? Political scandal? Financial scandal? Chisato wasn’t taking Moca to her apartment in the middle of the night to cook some books. Maybe it was a doping scandal and Chisato was about to pump Moca full of steroids so she could become the baseball star she was meant to be.

Chisato led her into the elevator. She tapped a little pass on a pad inside and her floor lit up without touching anything. Rich people didn’t even have to press their own buttons?! The elevator was so fast Moca didn’t have time to process that new class indignity before she was being ushered into Chisato’s apartment.

The apartment was nice to look at but boringly weird in the way professionally designed apartments always were. Sure it had odd accent pieces (why did Chisato have a fake deer neon head on the wall?) but they weren’t Chisato’s odd accent pieces. And it was missing the obligatory dirty plates and discard ramen cups Moca had come to associate with home.

“Make yourself comfortable Aoba-san,” Chisato tossed her keys into a waiting dish and walked with clicking heels through the living room and into, presumably, her bedroom.

It was definitely a sex thing, Moca decided as she walked into the soulless living room and eyed the oddly denim couch. But exactly how “sex” did Chisato want the scandal to be? Were they going to film a sex tape? Was the Proper Princess (now airing on Fuji TV Mondays at 9) going to have her nefarious way with little Miss Moca Aoba on film?! Moca was always DTF (Down to Fake Sexual Experience) but a sex tape was a little…

Actually, was it the worst idea? Did Moca have any particular reason NOT to star in a sex tape with the kind of woman who really should know better than to give her attention? Why did people usually avoid them? To avoid public disgrace? Disappointing people? Who was Moca going to disappoint? Her mother? Checkmark already done. Her friends? Tsugumi and Himari would be glad she was doing something with herself. Tomoe would probably watch and Ran… Ran wouldn’t really care, would she? Society at large? She was Moca Aoba! That was kind of her whole schtick.

The little voice in her head that always sounded like Tsugu cried something about future employers but did Moca even want to work somewhere that wouldn’t hire a sex tape superstar? Did Moca even want to work anywhere? There were no downsides.

But what exactly was Chisato Shirasagi going to get out of dumping her reputation out the window?

Moca inspected a little porcelain doll on the mantle. It was so oddly out of place in the antagonistically modern space that it had to actually be Chisato’s. She flipped it over in her hands, exposing it’s little ceramic knickers to the open air. Everything else in the room was for show. No one had ever paced a worn spot on the faux—wait shit that was real—Arabian rug. The artsy fartsy coffee table book on the artsy fartsy coffee table had never been cracked open. Even the books on the sleek wall mounted shelves were probably bulk purchased for their interesting spines unless Chisato was particularly fond of Russian literature.

...Okay, so the books were also probably Chisato’s.

Another little thought tickled at Moca’s mind, the logical conclusion she’d avoided. They were going to have sex. Chisato probably had some professional experience with sex scenes and amateur experience with intimacy. As for Moca everyday it seemed more and more likely that those sorts of opportunities would pass her by. It would be ungracious to refuse what was potentially her one and only chance to see someone else’s boobs up close. Especially movie star boobs. And she would have incontrovertible video evidence that she spent time with an A-list celebrities tatas. Well, at least B-list. Maybe C, some of those movies were just not good.

Of course as Moca decided she was strongly pro sex tape she realized it was completely possible she was misreading things and Chisato was actually changing into heavy overalls and they were about to move a body. Which would be a terrible mistake on Chisato’s part as Moca had the upper body strength of two broken popsicle sticks.

Moca leaned over the couch to look at Chisato’s richie rich view of Tokyo Tower because Moca was starting to suspect that the actress was actually a parody of a rich person. She didn’t even have the proper view of Tokyo Tower because everyone knew the west side was the fanciest side and—

The joking complaint cut short in her head as she noticed a little teal figure waving on the roof top across the street, framed by Tokyo Tower like a green screened background. There was no way. Except how could she deny it? There were only two people in world who looked like that and Moca didn’t have enough suspension of disbelief to think Sayo Hikawa was standing on the roof.

Moca waved back.

“Hina’s out there, I assume?” Chisato’s voice rang out behind Moca. “She said she was but her text was mostly emojis and sound effects so I couldn’t be certain.”

Moca turned to say something snarky but the words evaporated from the heat in front of her. Chisato had changed into a sunshine sheer negligee that made it very difficult for Moca to turn thoughts into sentences.

“Mouth closed Aoba-san,” Chisato’s voice was professionally level but her lips curled in a smirk, “You’re not a frog.”

“Ribbit,” Moca didn’t bother to correct how she gaped after the actress. “That outfit makes a lot of assumptions.”

“How so?” Chisato asked with faux innocence, turning her head so her neck stretched in the sort of line that demanded attention.

Moca forced herself not to gulp, “You assume I’m going to say yes to making your sex tape.”

“I don’t want to make a sex tape. But if I did, you’d say yes.”

“Woah~ What kind of girl do you take pure little Moca-chan for?”

“You’re not as unpredictable as you think you are, Moca Aoba.”

It was the worst Moca had ever been insulted. She loved it.

Chisato strode purposefully to the couch, quickly glancing out the window. “I will need you to strip down to your bra.”

“Moca-chan’s bra?! You pervert!”

The actress shot Moca a withering look, “Aoba-san, you came here thinking you were about to shoot a sex tape.” When Moca didn’t move she continued. “Hina is across the street with a 600mm camera ready to take a photograph of the two of us in an intimate embrace. She will then sell that photograph to the highest paying tabloid and, with luck, my career will vanish over night. Now, take off your shirt.”

Moca immediately pulled off the sports coat. If Chisato wanted to blow up her career, who was Moca to not usher the way forward. Her hoodie came off next, tossed unceremoniously over her shoulder and around the weird mounted deer. All that remained was a grey tank top clinging to her chest. Her hands hesitated at the hem of her final bit of armor. “Why me? Hina seems happy enough to help.”

“Because I could be photographed fist deep in Hina Hikawa and the press would still call it a stunning example of the sisterly affection between former idols.” No matter what she said Chisato’s professionalism never faltered.

“Why not Kaoru—”

Chisato answered before Moca’s mouth was done with the name. “I want someone with no public presence.” The deflecting actress stepped closer to Moca, laying her hands over Moca’s fiddling ones. “And I need someone with a prominent chest.”

“Wow, wow~.” She’d grant Chisato her distraction. Moca knew complicated relationships well. “I knew I had a special chest but I had no idea it was show the world special.”

“Aoba-san, I’ll make sure the photograph doesn’t show your face,” There was the slightest crack of desperation in the actress’ mask. Deep inside Moca’s chest a desire to reach out and try to break it open stirred. “It just needs to be evident that you’re a woman and—”

“Hey Shirasagi-san,” Moca grinned. Eh, it wasn’t polite to prod. “Nothing would make me happier than helping you burn down your career.” She pushed off Chisato’s hands and ripped off her tank top. “Tell Moca-chan what to do.”

With another look to window, Chisato laid down on the couch. Her body curled in an uncomfortable position, back arched, chest thrust out so she wouldn’t disappear behind the back of the couch. It was an actor’s pose meant to make her look good on camera but not in real life. But Moca would have been lying if she said she didn’t find Chisato attractive then too. “Get on top of me.”

A direction. Moca had never really acted but she figured it was as good a time as any to start. With heavy limbs she fell to the couch, straddling Chisato in theory though not practice. Moca found an invisible wall between their bodies, at least a mental one. A polite part of her worried about letting her full weight fall onto such a sensitive apex (that was definitely a thought from her inner Hii-chan). A lightly panicking part worried that it was too much too fast, that even though Chisato had literally invited her here for this Moca may have misread the situation.

Then Chisato’s hands grabbed Moca’s bare waist and pulled. Her body fell forward into Chisato, her palms catching herself before they crashed into each other. She flinched, unprepared for the electric feel of bare hands on bare skin. She wasn’t used to that sort of touch, at least not when it was so purposeful. Those soft hands stayed put on the curve of Moca’s hips as their faces drew so close. They’d already kissed once. They could do it again so easily.

“Move back,” Chisato whispered.

Moca made a confused noise. She didn’t want to move and Chisato was the one who—

“You’ll be in the shot Aoba-san.” One of her hands left Moca’s waist—Moca didn’t care for the cold in her absence—to gently press on the center of her accidental scene partner’s chest until Moca rose in response. “Would you help hold me up? This position is a little...”

She nodded but her hands trembled, hopefully imperceptibly. It was one thing to be touched, and another to touch. It was true that Moca had never met personal space she wouldn’t violate but that was jokes. This wasn’t jokes. There was a lot funny about it but Moca wasn’t ready to laugh yet. But she also wasn’t ready to run away. So she forced her hands onto Chisato’s back, one on the small, one between her shoulder blades in an approximation of one of Himari’s romance novels.

“Does Moca-chan look dashing?” Moca waggled her eyebrows.

Chisato let her body relax into Moca’s hands, “You’re not supposed to look dashing, you’re supposed to look feminine.”

“Girls can be dashing~.” An opportunity. “You of all people should know that.”

A sharp puff of air huffed out of Chisato’s lips, “well, there’s a reason no one _dashing_ is in this room.”

Moca almost pushed further, but she showed unusual restraint at the Kaoru Seta shaped sore spot. “Okay, okay. What next?”

Two hands slipped around the back of Moca’s neck and burrowed into her short hair. She tugged, just a little, and forced Moca’s chin up in a sharp reversed nod. “I’m going to look at you like I’m very much in love.”

It was an unimaginable idea until Moca saw Chisato’s face change. The stoic professionalism melted away and in its place rose uncomfortable sincerity. It was like Moca was the first person Chisato saw after years on a deserted island, like Moca was the only human connection she had. Moca wanted to squirm away and give her pounding heart a break. It was the first time someone had ever looked at her like that and she was pretty sure there was someone a lot taller in Chisato’s mind’s eye.

Moca wondered if that was what she’d looked like once.

The amateur gravure girl stuck out her tongue. “Nyehh.”

Chisato didn’t flinch. If anything with the power of every bit of acting experience she’d gathered over her career, she intensified her loving gaze.

Moca twisted her face. Her eyes crossed like they were googly.

Chisato acted as if Moca held the world in her eyes, even if she couldn’t exactly look into both of them at the same time. There were only four people in the world Moca had ever wanted to make laugh more than she wanted to make Chisato Shirasagi lose it in that moment.

In response, Moca shoved her chin into her neck until she had three chins and wriggled her tongue towards her flared nostrils. “Mlem, mlem, mlem.”

It was as if Chisato was looking at the most beautiful sight in the world and listening to the most wonderful music. She was angelic in look and tender in her eyes even if she did pull just a little too sharply at Moca’s hair.

“Wow, you’re actually a pretty good actress aren’t you,” Moca’s face snapped back to her usual lazy smile.

“I’ll have to have ‘Actually pretty good’ added to my movie posters.”

“It’s just not true what they say,” Moca tightened her hold on Chisato, “you can display emotions.”

“Who’s they?” The blonde chuckled.

“You know. They. The people. As in the people have spoken.”

Chisato shrugged, “I never had much of a talent for acting anyway.”

“What a coincidence,” Moca winked, “I’ve never had a talent for anything. Except bread tasting, tragically undervalued skill.”

“Tragically”

“Why don’t you just quit?”

“Excuse me?”

“Quit acting. If it’s torturing you like this... just don’t.” Moca wouldn’t. She couldn’t imagine just doing something she hated forever. Well, she could. She imagined it a lot, but she didn’t have piles of money to fall back on. If she did… well there were a lot of things the broke college student liked to imagine.

“It’s more complicated than that, Moca Aoba.” The full name again. It was hard to ignore how that made goosebumps rise up over her whole body when her shirt was on the floor. One of Chisato’s hands rubbed down the back of Moca’s neck, finding the knot of stressbuilt up and massaging in strong circles. It was hard not to press into her hand, and impossible to keep the train of thought going.

“Did Hina take the picture?”

“I’m sure she’s taken a hundred by now.”

Moca tried to gulp but her mouth was dry. There was a new look in Chisato’s eyes, not adoration but fire. And as for Moca there was a growing heat between her legs that Moca was trying to be polite and ignore but things were moving in an impolite manner. She’d always been good at bluffing. She just needed the right deflection.

“Chisato Shirasagi, you’re trying to seduce me.”

Finally, Chisato laughed. It was a wonderful sound, high and unrestrained. There was a little bit of a donkey’s hee haw squeaking in her throat. It wasn’t beautiful, not really. Her belly crumpled with the contractions, her dulled nails still found enough length to dig into Moca’s skin, and her shoulders awkwardly edged around her own ears.

Moca’s voice broke like a teenage boy in puberty. “Aren’t you?”

Chisato’s hand rolled around Moca’s neck, drawing tingling lines, and up until she was cupping Moca’s cheek with delicate fingers. “Oh, Moca Aoba.”

Moca swallowed hard. She hated how much she liked the way Chisato said her name like it was punctuation. A verbal period. Let’s show the world your boobs, Moca Aoba. I’m so blonde and rich and hot and sad, Moca Aoba.

“Do you want to fuck me, Moca Aoba?”

What. Moca’s attention snapped forward and she fell into the depths of those dark unreadable purple eyes. Who the hell was Chisato Shirasagi?

She was the woman trapped underneath Moca’s thighs and yet she was the one with Moca’s head in her hands. The one who had everything in the world and wanted to throw it all way. She was the one who was so perfectly in control of herself it made Moca teem with jealousy. She was the one the upper hand Moca just couldn’t wrench away. No, Moca Aoba didn’t want to fuck Chisato Shirasagi.

“It’s fine, everyone does—”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Moca was afraid of her. Just a little. The way people usually end up fearing what they want. Moca wished she was still three glasses deep so she’d have an excuse for the blush creeping down her face to her chest. The vulnerability she felt wasn’t from the cold air on her bare skin. But she couldn’t look away. Chisato really was a good actress. She always demanded attention.

With a gentle push that belied the startling force in her arms, Chisato led Moca down until her back lay against the couch, pausing only to hurriedly shut the curtains and end Hina’s voyeurism. Moca’s stomach rapidly rose and fell as the speed of Moca’s breathing grew closer to a panicking level. It was getting real. Moca didn’t handle real elegantly.

With a shove of her hips Chisato straddled Moca. She looked so natural there, lifting the sheer dress with with a single motion as practiced as her smile. And she was…

She wasn’t naked but Chisato was pretty close.

Moca could hear her heart beat and she was pretty sure Chisato could see it. This was stupid. It was stupid to freak out like this. She wasn’t Moca Aoba teenage disaster anymore, she was Moca Aoba adult disaster and adults were…

Adults could…

It wasn’t like she’d never kissed anyone. She’d kissed Chisato! And Afterglow had been made up of five hormone filled queer teens, of course she’d kissed all of them. Tomoe had kissed her rough on a dare. Moca used to tease Himari until they’d kiss just to keep Moca quiet, then Himari figured out she liked kissing Tomoe more. And sweet Tsugu had practically begged Moca to show her how it was done that summer she was so so insecure and they had and it was softest and sweetest Moca had ever been kissed until—

Don’t think Moca Aoba. Focus ahead, being horny is great for not thinking. Just be horny enough not to panic.

Chisato’s shadow cast over her, an ephemeral blanket quickly exchanged for a warm body. Chisato’s kiss it was hard and sudden. One second Moca’s mouth was her own and the next it belonged to an old money celebrity. A phrase from one of Himari’s books popped into Moca’s mind: ‘their tongues battled for dominance.’ It was the stupidest thing she’d ever thought and besides Moca had surrendered before the battle started. Chisato took the territory given to her. She installed a new general, patrolled the border, and quickly put down any rebellion that arose.

She was satisfied before Moca was. It was so much. Their parting left Moca weakly mewling, swollen lips unsure if they reach after until Moca was stopped with a firm hand on her collar bone. Chisatoburied her face in Moca’s neck. And sucked. No one in Afterglow had ever done that to Moca. It was so fucking much. She wanted to clench at her chest but her hands wouldn’t reach so she just scratched away at the shitty denim couch with the remnants of the nails Moca hadn’t bitten away. No one had ever mentioned making out could hurt. No one ever mentioned getting the hollow of your throat kissed—sucked—felt like sexy drowning. Before Moca could figure out if she liked it or not Chisato’s hand grabbed down.

Moca’s breast wasn’t used to intruders. Nothing about this was something Moca was used to. She wanted to say that, she could feel the deflection on her tongue but—

Everything stopped.

Chisato pulled away with a look on her face, concern and— no, no, no, no. “Moca, you’re crying.”

She didn’t know it until she was told but now Moca couldn’t feel anything but the burning wetness trailing from her eyes. She wanted to deny it. She couldn’t deny it. Moca could only watch the realization hit Chisato.

“I’m so sorry,” the always professional actress pulled back. “I thought you’d done this before.”

“Moca-chan’s fine, it’s fine,” Moca lied. The panic shook her like an aftershock.

“I always assumed you and Mitake-san were—”

“Don’t talk about Ran.”

It was more honest than she intended. The words couldn’t be taken back. The honesty couldn’t be folded up into a lie anymore. And she knew she shouldn’t, she knew she wouldn’t like what she saw but Moca looked into Chisato’s eyes anyway.

“Aoba-san.”

It was the same look Himari got in her eyes when she just showed up unannounced with a bundle of food because she knew Moca barely ate. The same softness in the voice as when Tsugumi called just to check in. Moca knew it too well, from when her teachers bemoaned her wasted potential, from when her mom couldn’t understand why she would throw everything away for some third rate college. From when Ran told Moca that she loved her but it just wasn’t in the same way.

Pity burned worse than fire.

There was a wet cat in her chest clawing at the bathtub walls, ready to scratch up any arm outstretched in mercy. “Hey look. We really are similar. We both fucked up our great love stories.”

Moca dug her knife into the Kaoru Seta shaped sore spot on Chisato’s heart. The way Chisato’s face retreated into cold professionalism told everything she needed to know about her accuracy. If there was an apology inside her but it was dead on arrival. Right with the pity in Chisato’s eyes. Chisato’s suspicion were confirmed. She knew exactly what sort of person Moca Aoba was.

It was so painful to be seen.

Moca burst from the couch, only ducking to grab some clothes from the floor before straggling as quickly as she could towards the door, practically throwing herself at the handle. She didn’t look back to see if Chisato moved.

Moca didn’t stop there. She kept running and running until she was down the elevator and through the front door faster than the excessive doorman could open it. And she kept going, through streets she didn’t belong in, past restaurants where one dinner could pay her rent, past all the apartments where all the beautiful actresses were too kind and nice to ever be able to stand someone like Moca Aoba. And she ran until she finally realized she wasn’t wearing a shirt and the thing in her hands wasn’t her hoodie but the too big sports coat.

But if her options were to face the long train ride back half dressed, dodging policemen to avoid indecency charges or going back to Chisato then Moca was glad she’d worn a cute bra.

* * *

Every day for two weeks Moca paused at the tabloids on her store rounds, kicking off with a copy to the side and thumbing through page by page over and over. There was Hina. There was Aya. Always getting into some trouble on purpose or on accident. But never Chisato. Moca tried not to think about it too hard, maybe she just didn’t have a good side after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this story started as a comedy. 
> 
> If anyone knows a better way to phrase the CW at the beginning without just summarizing the story I'm all ears. 
> 
> Also this is a series now because I think I now legally have to be nice to Moca Aoba at some point.


End file.
